Morning
by missDuncan
Summary: Early one Saturday morning Grace wants to keep on sleeping, but an unknown sound is disturbing her peace.


A random comment about Olympic athletes and the need of a bit of fluffiness kick-started my imagination – blame GotTea! This story is an attempt to cheer up Joodiff.

Many thanks GotTea for the beta and her never-ending support and help.

…

The sound is very faint but nevertheless the unknown noise still manages to penetrate her dreams, disturbing her sleep and refusing to let her fall back into the black nothingness where she wants to stay, drifting as she is in a state of semi-consciousness somewhere between sleep and awareness. She doesn't want to wake up; her surroundings are far too soft and warm. The smell is divine, too – seductive but at the same time comfortable and secure... she feels extremely safe encased in the scent of him mixed with the faint fragrance of clean linen.

She's tired but relaxed, very relaxed, and she definitely knows why, accustomed as she is nowadays to waking up in his huge bed most weekends after a wonderful night filled with the most pleasurable kind of intimate touching and kissing, before falling asleep, cuddling in his arms. Such activity provides a good night's sleep and is followed by a very relaxed and lazy awakening, she drowsily reflects, tucking the covers up under her chin and almost humming in delight. It feels so good. The smooth bed clothing clings pleasantly around her body, the mattress is so luxuriously soft but still supports her resting body, and the pillow is comfortable and fluffy under her head – it's simply blissful…

But still the sound goes on. Not wanting to leave her state of tranquillity, she squeezes her eyes tightly closed, trying to sink deeper into the pillow, making an effort to elude the interference, but it's hopeless. The noise is too intriguing.

She can't identify the sounds or the source – at least as long as she refuses to open her eyes. It isn't a sigh or a moan, nor is it really a wheeze or a whine, but it definitely kick-starts her brain, making it want to analyse this almost inaudible but curious disturbance. Exhaling deeply, eyes still closed, she relaxes, focusing and tuning her ears to it, letting her mind do its work.

There is no doubt it's Boyd making the sounds, and, listening carefully to the restrained whispering, she realises he's counting. "Seventy-two... seventy-three... seventy-four..."

What in the bloody hell is he doing, she muses, and giving up guessing, she opens her eyes, gazing around from her position flat on her back in the bed. Boyd's bed. Mmm... Well, she already knew that, but… turning her head, she glances around. There's no sight of the man, none at all, but he is close – there's no doubt about that.

The sound continues nevertheless. It's persistent, his counting, "Seventy-eight... seventy-nine... eighty..." and on it goes.

Submitting to her curiosity, she props herself up on her elbows making it easier to glance around the room, but the damn man is still invisible.

"Eighty-one... eighty-two... eighty-three..." The low counting carries on, though, a bit strained now.

Capitulating in the end, she gives up on her peaceful equilibrium and, sitting up in bed, her eyes immediately find him.

And what a sight... It's a sight for the Gods... or probably the Goddesses more likely. Truly a view worth waking up for.

Taking in the scene in front of her, a sigh of pure happiness escapes her lips. The effect this unexpected vision has on her is huge – her stomach tightens, her heart pumps rapidly and a warm sensual feeling starts to spread from her lower abdomen to the rest of her body and even to her face, where she feels her cheeks starting to burn with excitement and she feels a happy, joyful smile begin to play across her lips.

Not young anymore but he's still so easy on the eye... at least he is to her eye. Too old now to be called athletic but even so, he's still extremely handsome and physically attractive. She could easily look at him for hours – especially in a situation like this.

Peter Boyd, dressed only in trunks, is lying on the floor face down and stretched out to his full length, supporting his long body only with toes and hands. Staring, she finds herself dwelling first upon his broad shoulders... so nicely muscular... Completely spellbound, she regards the way those shoulders move up and down as his arms lower his torso towards the floor before returning it up to the original position. Mmm... It's such a fascinating show of strength…

Leaving his shoulders, her eyes then wander along to his arms where every single muscle is beautifully drawn. She watches the way his biceps and triceps work before her gaze, fascinated by the warm, golden sunbeams that are falling on him, the light reflecting against his slightly sweaty skin. Her gaze continues to wander over his just as powerful back, the contours of his musculature still distinctly visible further down. The sleek black trunks her eyes encounter next sadly cover his behind, which is every bit as nicely tight and toned as the rest of his body. What a shame he's covered, she muses, her fingers itching to touch, but nowadays, at least, she knows exactly how his naked skin feels under her hands.

Too many emotions rush through her mind and body, making it necessary for her to close her eyes for a brief moment, getting control over her breathing again. But irresistible as the sight is, she opens them again after a few seconds, this time concentrating on his legs. Long and powerful, perfectly defined under the skin both in his thighs and calves... and so very nice to inspect. Pulling back again she drinks in his entire body, as stretched out and exposed as it is, right here in front of her beside the bed.

It strikes her suddenly that through all the years they've known each other, all the time she's been admiring the sight of his powerful but always well-dressed body, the immaculate clothing only revealing a hint of the well-shaped form underneath, she has never once stopped to wonder about how he keeps himself so nicely fit. Now she knows the answer…

"Ninety-seven... ninety-eight... ninety-nine..."

Finished with his push-ups, Boyd stretches slowly before rolling onto his side. Lazily, he supports his head, placing a hand under his chin, elbow on the floor as he gazes up, catching her eyes.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head," he remarks, sending her one of his big charming, boyish smiles. "Some of us have been up and about for ages." Scratching his free hand up and down his stomach he continues, "You'll have to wait, though... I need to finish this before fetching you some breakfast."

Rolling onto his back, bending his knees up, hands behind his neck, Boyd begins his counting again.

Deeply fascinated, she remains where she is, watching Boyd do his crunches. Arranging the pillows in a supportive pile behind her back, she happily sinks into them, now enjoying the sight of his broad chest and the hint of something that actually looks like a nicely shaped six-pack. Provided with this kind of entertainment, she can happily wait for her morning tea.


End file.
